The Real Dean (and Sam)
by ThornsHaveRoses
Summary: What is Supernatural fans Barnes and Damien parked outside a motel, and noticed an authentic black '67 Impala in the lot? What if they were to run into a couple of familiar faces from the first ever Supernatural Convention? In which Sam and Dean are recovering from a hunt and they end up with some uninvited company. Oneshot. Rated T for a couple curse words.


**A/N: So who doesn't love ep5.09? This will always be one of my favorites. And I have been waiting patiently (not so patiently) for YEARS to see Barnes and Damien run across Sam and Dean again. I'm still hoping it will happen. But until then, I had to write this.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural.**

 **Oh, and guys - only 85 more days until our show starts again! Anyone else freaking our?**

The Real Dean (and Sam)

By: ThornsHaveRoses

"Damien - this motel looks like a roadside death trap."

Damien shot his partner an exasperated look. "It's also the only motel we've passed since we crossed the state line."

"And that's it's only recommendation." Barnes replied sadly as Damien pulled into the lot and they got to see only too clearly the sagging roof and decades old paint job. The awning over the doorways looked likely to collapse, and as it was a couple of the pillars holding it up were dented like theyd been the victims of one too many bad drivers.

But Damien was right - it was late afternoon and they were hungry and tired and had been driving since that morning, and as much as they wanted to get home they were both adamant they were not driving through the night. There was also a gas station and a cafe just down the road.

They both got out promptly - just happy to stretch their legs - and that's when Barnes noticed it. He must have simply been too distracted by the eyesore that was the motel to notice at first - but Barnes always noticed Impala's. Especially - if he wasn't mistaken - beautiful, black 1967 Impala's because, well, because he was a huge fan of this series of books. And the main characters in these books just happened to drive one.

"Damien," Barnes grabbed his partner's jacket to get his attention. "Check it out!"

They couldn't help themselves. They hurried over to the Impala, excited like kids on Christmas. Theyd been to a few conventions where a handful of Impala's would always be parked in the lot, but out in the real world Barnes had only seen maybe a half dozen. He wondered if the owner was a Supernatural fan too.

The car itself was in pristine condition. The paint gleamed and the silver shone in the dipping sun.

Barnes peered in the window and laughed. "Damien, this guy is definitely a fan." There was a box of cassette tapes in the front.

Damien circled the car. "This is the most authentic '67 I've ever seen!" They both knew he meant authentic to the series they both loved.

Their eyes met over the roof and they grinned. Barnes rested his arms on the roof and opened his mouth , about to quote one of his favorite lines from the books, when a deep voice startled them.

"Hands off my car." The deep voice barked sharply.

Damien and Barnes both flinched and turned, then froze in recognition.

The man before them was not someone they'd ever forget. Dressed in jeans and a black tee with a plaid shirt over top, with short dark hair and bright green eyes and a days worth of stubble. The last (and first) time theyd met, they'd helped him dig up graves. He'd called himself a big fan of Carver Edlunds books, then contradictingly hated on them, and hadn't even given them his name.

"Oh, wow. Hi." Barnes said. This man in front of them had driven away and left a hundred questions in the dust. It had been, what? Seven, eight years since that convention? And honestly, the more time that passed, the less Barnes and Damien remembered about what had really gone down that night. Now it was just a fuzzy recollection.

The green-eyed man frowned, like he couldn't figure out why they were still standing there staring at him. "Off the car." He repeated firmly.

Barnes pulled his arms back. "Sorry. It's just... don't you recognize us?"

His eyes narrowed, and flicked back and forth between Barnes and Damien. Then there was a spark of recognition. But it certainly wasn't the _oh, hey, nice to see you_ spark. It was definitely more of the _you've got to be shitting me_ variety. "You're those guys." He said.

"What are the odds, huh?" Damien said. "Hey, we should get dinner together. Catch up."

Barnes nodded. "Since it looks like we're both here for the night. We'd love to hear about your Baby."

"Yeah. Like where'd you get the parts? I've never seen a copy look so authentic."

"A copy?"

"And the license plate - did you have to pay extra to get that done? How easy was it to get it changed?"

"Look, sorry. But I got some shit to get back too." The green-eyed man said flatly. He quickly walked up and opened the trunk (it squeaked just perfectly) and pulled out a small duffle bag. Then with one last look over his shoulder he slipped into the closest room.

"That was kind of rude." Barnes remarked.

Damien hesitated. "Barnes... did you see his hands. I think he had blood on them."

"You sure?"

"I think he's in trouble."

Inside the motel room, Sam was perched on the edge on one bed, shirtless, waiting for Dean to grab the sewing supplies. The Wendigo they'd hunted had ripped his back open, as well as bruised up the both if them.

Dean fished out the supplies and knelt on the bed behind his brother. "You won't believe who I just ran into." He muttered, while threading the needle expertly. Sam hissed sharply at the first contact, but stayed mostly still and silent as Dean began to work on the first of four slices across the top of his shoulder blade.

Sam mumbled something in response, not really caring or paying attention to his brother as the needle slipped in and out of his frayed skin.

"You remember back -"

But Dean never got to finish that sentence, because the door was shoved open and two men pushed inside.

Sam gasped as Dean dropped the needle, leaving it to dangle from the half-stitched wound in favor if pulling his gun from the waistband of his jeans, leveling it at the intruders in a heartbeat.

"Wow! Wow!" One of the men said, and both sets of hands flew up. "Don't shoot us!"

"Oh my god!" Dean complained loudly, pissed and exasperated. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You... we... we saw the blood." Barnes said. "On your hands. We thought you were in trouble."

"Wait.. " Sam squinted at them, the low sun behind them making it harder to make out more then shapes. "Dean. . Is that...?"

"Yeah. Fans." He muttered. Then louder. "Well, shut the damn door."

They both shuffled in, slamming the door.

"You're on the wrong side of it." Dean bitched.

"Hey, man," Barnes spoke to Sam, "Are you okay?"

"Just peachy. Now get out." Dean still hadn't lowered his gun.

Sam grimaced. "Dean. Put the gun down."

"We can help you." Damien. He stepped a bit to the side for a better look, and his eyes widened in horror when he saw Sam's back. "How did you do that?"

"Dean, could you hurry up and finish?" Sam huffed impatiently. He knew there was no easy way to get rid of their unwanted guests, not with what they'd already seen. And his brother holding his gun on them clearly wasn't doing the job. So instead Sam hoped to get Dean to focus on the stitches. If Sam acted liked his injury was hurting him, he knew Dean would snap into big brother mode and hopefully be less inclined to shoot Barnes ans Damien just to get them out of there.

"Son of a bitch."

The gun was reholstered in his waistband, and those steady hands picked up the needle again.

With the gun out if sight, Barnes and Damien both relaxed a bit. But still, both felt like they should do something. There was a man injured in front if them. His torso was bruised up too, and... "Is that an anti-possession tattoo?" Barnes blurted.

Damien elbowed him in the gut, shooting him a look that clearly said they had more important things to be focusing on.

Barnes ignored him. "I mean, we considered getting them done, but the books weren't really specific enough to get an accurate drawing so we decided not too. How'd you decide on that design?"

Sam and Dean both stared at him like he had two heads.

"Look chuckleheads. I've told you before and you didn't bother believing me. What makes you think I'm gonna tell you again?" Dean said.

Barnes laughed. "You cannot expect us to believe that. I mean, you guys are some fans, I'll give you that. The car, the tats, the crappy motel, calling each other by their names. But those books are _fiction._ No way a real person could survive what Sam and Dean have been through."

"So what? You think we're playing at some sort of game? That this -" He gestured to Sam's back with his free hand "- was just cause we're _fans_?" Dean spit the last word out.

"You guys should go." Sam said quietly. "Please."

"Look, those books-"

"They're not books." Sam said. He had to speak up. He'd felt Dean tense up behind him, ready to verbally slap the men infront of them. And there was no doubt in his mind that would just make it worse. "They're our life story. The author? Chuck? He's a prophet. He gets _visions_ of our _lives_ and writes them down to make money." Honestly Sam felt telling them Chuck was God was not necessary.

"So he's the Righteous Man? That rude, loud-mouthed jerk?" Damien scoffed, watching Sam intently.

Dean bristled behind him, but never stopped his smooth movements, determined to sew up his younger brother quickly, most likely so he could show them exactly what he thought of their opinions.

"And you really played chew toy to Lucifer?" He continued scathingly. Except when he said it, he saw something on Sam's face. He didn't move, not really, but his face went to stone, and his eyes flickered with a very real combination of fire and fear. If Damien hadn't been watching so closely, he doubted he would have seen it, but it derailed his tirade immediately. And hesitantly he wondered, could you fake something like that? He didn't think so.

Much softer, Damien asked "But how could anyone deal with that?" He wasn't sure if he meant Lucifer, or death, or any other thing that he'd read about.

"You know the answer to that. " Sam replied.

Barnes stared at his partner, noting the change in his stance. Was Damien seriously giving them the benefit of the doubt? He nudged him to get his attention and asked simply "D?"

"We dug up _graves_ that night." Damien said.

"Yeah. You helped save everyone in that building." Dean said.

"If that's true, then you guys have saved the world." Barnes phrased it like a question.

"Jobs not as glamorous as it sounds." Dean muttered.

"Thank you." The tall man said, and Deans head snapped up.

Thing was, it wasn't very often the Winchesters got any recognition for their deeds. But he could hear the sincerity in Barnes voice, and the elder brother felt the urge to shoot them lesson, just a bit. He tied off the thread, and Sam stood up a bit stiffly, going over to his duffle.

"We should leave." Damien blurted. Even though he had a thousand questions for them, he thought back to every book he'd poured over and every trial theyd been through, and somehow in that moment felt every bit the intruder into their lives. They sure as hell didn't want his questions. They didn't need to relive the horror he'd read about. He grabbed Barnes' arm.

They turned abruptly, but Barnes paused, hand on the doorknob. "The real Dean, huh?"

"Just Dean. Dean Winchester."

Sam handed Damien something. He grabbed it, glancing down at the row of neatly scrawled numbers. "In case you ever run into trouble." He said, then he tilted his head to the door, and the two men listened, shutting themselves outside of the motel room.

"Did that really just happen?" Barnes whispered.

Under the dim light of the motel Damien glanced at the paper in his hand again, then tucked it safely in his pocket. "Come on. "

They slowly walked to the motel office, passing long glances ar the Impala shinning under the neon glare of the road sign. And while the the girl at the desk took their credit card info, Barnes thought he heard the all too famous growl of Baby.

Taking their key, they stepped from the office.

The first thing they noticed was that the '67 Chevy Impala was nowhere in sight.

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed! If you have a minute, please review. I always love to hear what people think.**


End file.
